“On a flying goldfish!” He exclaimed as he tore off the Velcro flap. Who was this strange man, with a kilt, looking like a singlet quilt, with a belt of ties? The one, and only Zebong, world famous story teller, with years of experience. Sort of. But he was as good as he sounded. He had travelled the north island for eighteen years, telling stories of pirates, shipwrecks, castles, witches and trolls. He was just as good every time. His eyes were always shining, his voice always alternating, always including the audience, always using his trademark tool. Velcro flaps. He tears them off with a sweep, and a flourish. In fact he did everything with a sweep and a flourish. He never seemed to age, his voice never faltered. He tolerated the rowdiest audience. Today he was telling a story about a castle, and an evil witch. Everyone was cracking up, as he told the forlorn tale of a two-headed dragon, a goldfish eating one and an old hag, casting evil curses and trying to get a date. All eyes fixed on Zebong, all ears were trained on him. Everyone stayed silent, until an absolutely hilarious part of his saga, then we all burst out with laughter. For some reason, he always told a story with the same set up. A main character, a problem, mere problems and a sad, but hilarious ending. But every time, there were the same amount of laughs and everyone enjoyed themselves. As usual, after the story he accepted questions and gave answers. Zebong
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